


Oathkeepers - One-Shot

by JosefAik



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosefAik/pseuds/JosefAik
Summary: The war against the oncoming dead has been won in one final battle before the walls of Winterfell, but the very soul and spirit of Ser Jaime Lannister remains shattered by the events that brought him to this place. A driving force in his story has always been the love that he holds for those closest to him, be that Tyrion, Cersei, or Brienne, but he is also haunted by many ghosts. The Kingslayer must come to terms with his past to decide the course that his future must take, but such things are rarely as easy as they seem.I wrote this short one-shot as a present for a friend who loves Jaime, and the purpose of it is to better assert why it was that Jaime travelled south after the Battle of Winterfell, offering closure for the Brienne and Jaime relationship, and exploring the mindset of one of the stories most interesting characters after such a pivotal moment in the franchise's lore. I hope you enjoy this exploration of Jaime's character, and a representation of how Brienne has affected him throughout his story. All men are affected by the ghosts of their past, even if there aren't any men like this one.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Oathkeepers - One-Shot

The biting cold stung at Ser Jaime’s skin as he crossed the castle’s balustrades. The Long Night may have been ended, but it was still a harsh winter’s wind that whipped across the walls of Winterfell. Little snowflakes caught in his beard, dampening the hair as they melted, and what exposed skin he did have was red and sore from the freeze. The red cloak that he wore dragged behind him, the hem getting wet from the settled snow and ice, even though some Stark men had tried to clear the walkway that morning. 

He looked out over the rolling hills of the North, a wide and expansive land that seemed to go on for miles and miles. What little ground he could see was wet and muddy, though most was covered in snowbanks. Teams had been working on clearing the Kingsroad, but to little avail. A swift horse would still take a rider down the road, but Lord Royce’s wagons could not yet pass. 

It was not so long ago that he would have called this land worthless. Crops did not grow here, money was not made, and most of the inhabitants barely got by. His eyes had opened, and now he saw the beauty in this harsh landscape, he saw common cause with the people who lived here. 

He had spent most of his life in service to one king or another. Whether it be Aerys, or Robert, Joffrey or Tommen, and yet now he was free of that. He wasn’t in service to one man. He was in service to a realm, to his family. Two of those kings had been his own children, and though he had served them as a knight, he had never served them as a father should. Would Joffrey have been less vindictive or less sadistic had Jaime shown any interest in him? Would Tommen have been so sweet and naïve had Jaime helped him learn how harsh life could be? He had failed them, and, in turn, they had failed the realm. 

He had stabbed Aerys in the back to spare thousands, his finest deed, and yet the same people that he had saved called him traitor, or Kingslayer. Aerys had wanted to kill them, to burn the innocents to the ground, to sacrifice all of those people out of spite. Now it was his sister who sat the Iron Throne, and he feared that she would try the same. 

What would father say? In between his long lectures on legacies and heritage, Tywin Lannister had always cared about his family. He had hated Tyrion, because he saw his youngest son as the thing that killed his beloved wife. Tywin had always craved for his family to live on, to better themselves, and yet the Lannister family was more broken than ever. Their cousins were dead, with Uncle Kevan and Cousin Lancel killed by Cersei herself. Had it been the pressure that Tywin had put on them that hard torn them asunder so? Or was this a cruel fate or destiny? He shuddered. He was starting to sound like the Septons that he had always hated as a child. 

“You should come inside, Jaime. Maester Wolkan believes a snowstorm is coming.” 

Her voice drew him away from his thoughts and back into the world of the living. More and more now he found himself thinking on Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, Lancel, Kevan, and father… All those family that he had lost. Ever since the Stark girl had told him that the dragon queen planned to destroy Cersei. Would her face soon be added to those that he saw in his nightmares? 

It was only around her that he could forget his ghosts and live as Ser Jaime, and not Ser Jaime Lannister, the sisterfucking knight with no honour. 

Lady Brienne, or Ser Brienne as she was now, wore her Stark clothes, with the wolfskin cloak falling over her shoulders. She was prepared for the cold in a way that he was not. Everything he wore was designed for the south, with thin fabrics, whilst what she wore was thick and yet comfortable. He had tried on her wolfskin cloak one morning whilst she slumbered in their bed. It was comfortable, though he felt like the dead ghosts that followed his every step were judging him more than usual. The traitor lion in the wolf’s skin. 

He bowed his head to her and followed her to their chambers. A fire crackled away in the hearth, providing heat and light. It was much needed. Jaime hadn’t realised how numb his exposed left hand had gotten, but he could feel the blood warming up as he sat next to the fire. 

“I woke up to find you gone this morning. I feared- “ 

He looked to her. She was younger than he, and he always forgot it. She was uncertain around conversation and people in a way that she never was with a sword. She was fearless on the battlefield, and yet away from it she was vulnerable, though she hid it well with others. He liked the fact that she didn’t need to do that with him anymore. Save for Tyrion, she was the only soul in the Seven Kingdoms that trusted him. 

“I am sorry. I needed to walk and get some fresh air. I- Well, it wasn’t a good night’s sleep.” 

“The nightmares?” 

He silently nodded, and stared away from her, into the crackling flames. He could almost imagine that the logs made up a city with three hills. A knot on the side of the largest log even resembled a mighty fortress, built atop the largest of the hills. It burned, and the people of the city burned with it. 

“You are not to blame for Joffrey’s mistakes, nor Tommen’s. You are certainly not to blame for your sister’s. You are a good man, Jaime. I know that. I see that in you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have- “ 

He could feel her blushing, which brought the flicker of a smile to his face. Even now, even after months of no longer being a maiden, she got embarrassed talking about it. She was not confident, or manipulative, or forceful in the same way that Cersei was, but she was loyal, and brave, and, to him, beautiful. 

He hadn’t seen it at first, blinded by his attitude and his ‘love’ for Cersei, but after all they had been through, after all the ways that she had saved him, how could he not find her beautiful. Her soul was pure and her spirit strong. She was family. 

“These ghosts that follow you… They are not your burden to live with, Jaime. It was not you that burned your cousin and uncle, nor was it you who drove Tommen to jumping. It is Cersei. It has always been Cersei.” 

He had tried to explain to Brienne what it had felt like with her, why he had spent so many years of his life loving his sister. It didn’t make sense to even him, not now that he had experienced it with Brienne, not now that he saw his sister for what she was. And yet, even now, he felt a pang of guilt for abandoning her in the south. Even now he wished that he could ride in on his horse and spirit away. Not out of love, or lust, but out of brotherly duty. Cersei may be a monster, but she had not been born this way. She had been forged in the fires of prophecy and pain. Could not even the vilest of monsters be saved? After all, Brienne had done the same for him. 

“I speak to you and you offer me nothing but silence, Jaime. How else can I help you? What else can I do?” 

“How can I ask more of you after all you have done for me, Brienne? What sort of a man would that make me?” 

“A smart one.” 

She knelt before him, her bottom lip stuck out in the obstinate way that it sometimes did, her eyes like ferocious pools of intensity, her hands gripped to his, her knuckles white. 

“The brave man that seeks no help often ends up dead, Jaime. What can I do for you?” 

He couldn’t meet her gaze, and so he looked away, down to the floor. His brow furrowed, and he closed his eyes, letting the darkness embrace him for a few split seconds. 

“You can let me go.” 

He felt her hands drop away from his, a guttural sound got caught in her throat. She sounded like she was suppressing some raw emotion. He opened his eyes to look at her, and he saw a single tear form at the bottom of her left eye. She wiped it away, and then met his eyes, the same intensity back in her face. 

“We live to serve, Jaime. That is the duty of a knight. I will let you ride south to King’s Landing. I will let you do what you have to do. But you must make me one promise.” 

“Anything.” 

She clutched his hand back in hers and held it to her breast. 

“Return to me when it is done. Return to me fully, free of these ghosts, whether you can save her or not.” 

He did not need answer her. He nodded silently, and she embraced him, wrapping her thick arms around him. They were held close more than just physically. He had known lust with Cersei, but this was love, as pure and as beautiful as Brienne herself. How could he promise her anything but to return? It was all he could give her, and not even that would repay the debt that he owed. 

And so he found himself astride his horse, riding the Kingsroad with the cold wind in his hair and cloak, riding away from Winterfell, riding away from Brienne, and riding towards Cersei, his sister. Maybe he could save her from her own ghosts, from Robert and Rhaegar, from Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, from herself. Whatever she had done, she was still his sister. 

And when it was done… Well, now he had another oath he had to keep.


End file.
